Toilet Talk
by UchihanoChidori
Summary: Some people meet in the strangest places, and bond over the stupidest things.


**A/N: **Written for the Mini Challenge in the Reader Appreciation Club in Y!Gallery.

I had to write something in the 2nd person, present tense.

I wish I had more time to write this. No, I wish I had had more time to think about how to write this. But I didn't and I don't.

I wanted to write something about two people meeting and feeling some light instant chemistry in an odd situation. I mean, some people meet and bond over the stupidest things, and Naruto obviously sucks at flirting.

I wish I knew how to draw, because really, some fanart of Naruto peeking over Sasuke's *cough*penis*cough* would totally be awesome.

**Disclaimer: **Naruto and Sasuke belong to Kishimoto Masashi.

* * *

**Toilet Talk**

The Goth bar holds a dark atmosphere to it, what with its grey stony walls resembling a medieval dungeon – adorned by all sorts of torture devices - and the intermittent lights that projected many different colors in their dullest tones.

The small, square tables are made of old-looking wood, surrounded by four stools of the same shape and material.

In the background, you recognize a song by _Cradle of Filth_that can be heard through the four huge speakers placed in all four corners of the not-so-big-but-rather-crowded place.

The dance floor is filled with people mostly dressed in black, generally accompanied by other dark colors in a mixture of all sorts of shiny, expensive looking fabrics.

This is probably the darkest, most literally obscure place you've even been to, but the mysterious atmosphere all around you makes a nice contrast to the cheery kind of nocturnal environments you're used to.

Even though this is your first time here and your simple attire looks nothing like what those Gothic/Metal Masters are wearing, you have to admit that coming here on your own was a good idea, even if just to try out something new and internally scoff at the ridiculous way they dance.

Really, who the hell dances to _Cradle of Filth_?

You are sitting alone in one of the most secluded tables near the DJ boot, a glass of some red mash - which name you can't remember, but are sure it sounded disgusting when the bartender suggested it - resting in front of you.

Watching all the bodies moving like lost souls, you muse about how much you feel like Lestat from the 'Queen of the Damned' movie, so hidden in the shadows as you are.

In nights like this, when you need to go out to loosen up and relieve some of the stress from work but have no-one available to accompany you, you usually don't mind going out by yourself. You're not much of a socializer, and it's not like you are looking for something special, you really just want to have something to drink and then go home towards a good night's sleep.

One would think you're looking for some fun, all alone like this, your dark grey eyes scanning the room absently. You're not looking for anything in particular, but it would be nice to see something interesting for once.

Actually, it would be nice to have some actual fun with someone who would actually be relatively worth it.

However, no matter how many other eyes watch you in hopes that your gaze steadies upon them, no one catches your attention.

You take a tentative sip on your drink and realize it's not sweet, and not exactly sour either, although you can't really identify what kind of drinks were used to create it. It's tolerable, so you are able to finish it in just a few minutes during which you look around thoughtfully.

When the scenery doesn't change and you become bored, you realize that you need to take a leak – nothing too serious, but at least you'll occupy your time with something before getting another drink.

So you get up, gather your wallet and your mobile phone and shove each of them inside both of your jeans' back pockets.

You have to go around the dance floor to reach the toilets, located on the opposite side from where you table is. Once in a while, someone from that zombie dancing crowd grabs your arm or tugs on your shirt in a silent but lascivious invitation for you to join them, but you just shake your head in refusal and go on your way.

It's not like you have anything against women. Then again, you have nothing against men either.

It's just that you aren't easy to captivate.

Even though that place is interesting and completely different from what you are used to, you have no interest in making acquaintances.

You finally reach your location. There are two silvery doors in front of you, and you head towards the one that has the typical male sign in it.

You stop in your tracks as soon as you go in because the place looks disgusting and terrifyingly plain. On your left you have the five joined lavatories and on your right there are three cubicles in tones of sickly green where the you presume guys are supposed to take a shit. Right in the wall opposite from where you are you can see three white urinals that don't look very hygienic. The grey floor is covered in bits of toilet paper, cigarette buds and all sorts of pieces of stuff you don't want to consider.

Still, you take a deep breath and regret it right afterwards because your nose gets instantly attacked by the sour smell of urine, remnants of cheap perfume and…other odors you don't really want to waste time identifying.

Well, at least there's no one else in here, you think, walking towards the urinal in the right side of the one in the middle.

You bring your hands to your lower parts, and manage to pull the zipper down halfway through when the door behind you creaks open.

You ignore the newcomer and push the zipper all the way down, as the person comes closer.

Your manhood is already out and in your hand, ready to be relieved by the time the other male choses the urinal right next to yours. The sound of him unbuttoning himself distracts you for a while and nothing comes out.

Silence follows.

"Hey." The stranger says after a few moments where neither you nor he seems to be able to do what you both went there to do.

He sounds young and cheerful, but you ignore him, eyes fixed in the dirty tiles that adorn the wall in front of you.

Since you don't answer him, he speaks again and says "I don't know if you've noticed, but I just greeted you."

An exasperated sigh leaves your mouth as you frown at the tile.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I just ignored it." You say, nonchalantly.

The guy snorts as if you said something funny.

"Why?" He asks. The fact that he sounds genuinely curious makes you look at him to meet the biggest, brightest bluest eyes you've ever seen.

For a moment, you stop thinking. Then you blink several times. His eyebrows quirk upwards a bit, as if he feels as surprised by your eyes as you felt by his.

As you suspected, he is young, like you. He has shiny, golden hair that is tousled beyond repair and skin that sports a healthy tan. His features are handsome and very transparent.

"Why, what?" You ask, absently noticing that, also like you, he isn't appropriately dressed for such a place, because he is wearing the most horrendous orange t-shirt over a pair of cream coloured shorts, and you can't see his feet, but somehow you have the feeling he has sandals on.

"Why did you ignore me?" He presses on. "It's impolite."

At that moment, you are able to finally start relieving yourself, the liquid sound filling the local awkwardly.

"It's impolite to greet someone when they're trying to take a piss." You retort, so as to prevent yourself from feeling embarrassed. You never really liked much to do these kinds of things in front of other people.

The stranger snorts yet again and smiles – rather stupidly, you think.

"Trying? I'd say you got the hang of it pretty easily." He says, gesturing with his chin to your lower parts and eyeing them shamelessly.

What kind of stupid observation is that? And why the fuck is he staring?

"Yes, and apparently you're still in potty training since you're not that lucky." You answer, gesturing back to his manhood, which is yet to show any signs of life.

"Shut up," He snaps, smile disappearing to give place to a slight pout. "I just can't focus if you keep staring at my dick like that."

Sudden outrage takes over you.

"You stared first and I'm doing just fine." You snap back, finishing your business and giving your instrument a little shake.

"I can see that, thank you very much," The guy mutters, just as he also begins to take a piss. His head tilts back in apparent happiness, and he grins once more. "Finally! Aaaaaah, it feels fucking good."

"Good for you," You mutter, rolling your eyes at him. When you look back at Blondie, you notice his eyes looking at your male pride again. "Stop peeking, it's gross." You groan.

"What? I'm jealous!" He defends himself, with absurd dignity. "Can't a guy admire another guy's dick?"

Well, that was straightforward. What could your dick possibly have of so spectacular gain the attention of a stranger?

An orange-clad stranger at that. Weird guy. He's probably some kind of psychopath.

Then again, he looks too stupid.

"I'm not even going to answer that." You say, tucking everything back in its rightful place and pulling the zipper up. You press the metallic button to flush the urinal and turn your back on him, going to the lavatories.

"I'm not flirting with you, if that's what you think." The guy says, casually.

"I certainly hope not." You retort, rubbing your hands together vigorously under the spray of water since there is no soap on the recipient under the mirror.

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" The guy has finished as well and must be composing himself at last.

"It means I am about to re-ignore you." You answer simply, eyeing his back from the corner of your eye and confirming that, indeed, he is wearing blue plastic sandals.

What a moron.

You watch him carefully as he turns around and approaches you. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans on the lavatory beside yours.

"Are you a homophobe or something?" He inquires, in a conversational way.

"Are you?" You mutter back, making a face at the fact that he doesn't really seem inclined to wash his hands any time soon.

"I am as open-minded as one can get, otherwise I wouldn't feel comfortable telling you I'm jealous of your penis." He answers; offering you that big, goofy grin that you are sure is a trademark of his.

"You could get in trouble for saying something like that to another guy." You point out, moving over to the metallic hand drier on your left.

"Am I in trouble now?" He asks sweetly, with false innocence. The glare you throw at him doesn't seem to demotivate him.

Yes, definitely a moron.

What kind of person says such things? And why is he stalking you?

"You might be in permanent trouble if you're this naïvely idiotic, yes." You say, for some reason feeling a corner of your mouth twitching upwards just a little.

His mouth opens but you have just activated the automatic system on the hand dryer, so the noise muffles whatever words he utters.

He pouts openly now, and you can't help but to smirk.

"You were saying something?" You ask, once your hands are dried enough.

"I said, don't be mean, you kind of like me." He replies, uncrossing his arms. One hand rests on the edge of the sink, the other one settling on his hip.

"Do I, now?"

You turn to him because, really, the guy's confidence amuses you.

It's kind of weird, too.

"Why would you be making small talk with me in a public bathroom if you didn't?" He points out, with surprising coherence for someone who looks like they haven't got too many neurons functioning in that brain of his.

It's a shame, considering Blondie is actually pretty hot, fashion sense aside.

"Because you're annoying, and hard to ignore." You retort, shrugging as if it's obvious.

"Right," The other says. He smiles now, and it's a simple gesture but it makes him look so harmless and handsome that you throat runs dry all of a sudden. "Well, I kind of like you, too. Weird, huh?"

He's smiling but he speaks with a certain seriousness that has an odd undertone to it. For a moment the two of you look at each other and both of your smiles disappear gradually.

It's funny, but his eyes are so clear they send a shiver running down your spine, causing your heart to beat a little faster.

You know this feeling. You don't often have the chance to experience it, and yet, something about this person is making you feel it.

The spark of curiosity.

And for such a brainless idiot?

How unexpected.

You swallow hard and shake your head a bit before taking a deep breath. No, that couldn't be it. You just met this guy.

"Alright, mister open-minded, cock appreciator," You say, regaining your proud composure. "It was awkward meeting you. Take care and I hope I never get to see you again."

"Ouch…" He whispers, bringing his hand to his heart to fake hurt. "You're harsh."

"You asked for it."

You turn around, more than ready to going back to ignoring him and returning to your table, and maybe order two or three drinks more before heading home.

But a hand grabs hold of the hem of your white shirt, stopping you. You look over your shoulder to see Blondie biting his lip.

You smack his hand away – trying not to cringe at the fact that that same hand was unwashed – before turning to him with an eyebrow raised.

"So…" He mutters, scratching the back of his head with hesitation – such a huge contrast with the previous boldness he had showed. "If I was, in fact, flirting with you….would that be a bad thing?"

An unexpected heat flows all over your body at his sudden shyness.

"It depends on whether I'm interested or not." You reply, in a heartbeat.

"Are you?" There is so much hope in those eyes that you feel yourself melt a little.

In a way, the fact the he is interested makes you a little content.

You'd never flirt with him – or anyone - on principle. You never make the first move, but then again, you've never be flirted with by anyone that caught your attention.

Not that 'flirting' is the right term to describe that conversation.

Nope, you've never really met anyone like him.

"We can talk about that later after you buy me a drink, maybe." You end up saying, smiling a bit when Blondie's eyes lit up with mirth.

"I work here." The stranger said, grinning mischievously. "It's my day off, though, I just came to say hello to my friend, who is working today."

"So that means that the drinks are on you?" You muse, licking your lips and noticing how sapphire orbs follow the gesture.

"You can buy me one, too, just to look good." He suggests.

"You'll have to earn it first."

"I'm Naruto." He introduces himself, straight to the point as usual, stretching out his left hand to you.

You feel like laughing, and yet, you scrunch up your nose in disgust. Such a stupid name, perfect for a silly person. It seems terribly fitting.

Somehow the stupidity of it all is so very alluring.

"Wash your hands first, and then we'll talk." You say, and Naruto – for that is his name, and you know you won't forget it so easily – grins openly and winks at you.

"Sure thing, boss."

Yep, this could definitely be turn into something interesting.

- Owari -


End file.
